


That He Was

by gatty



Category: Sarah Jane Adventures
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatty/pseuds/gatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah Jane has always parceled her life into clear segments of time. Her time with the Doctor, her time at the <i>Metropolitan</i>, her time with Luke. And the time after.</p><p>She has been trying to glue together broken Christmas ornaments for twenty minutes when Luke appears before her, that frown on his face and hands shoved deep in his pockets.</p><p>"I need to speak to you," he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That He Was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Broncobabe007 (Westwardflight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westwardflight/gifts).



> This rather grew into something far bigger than I had been expecting. I have tried my best to hold it to some level of coherency, but apologies for the vagueries of timelines. Canon compliant to somewhere early in season 3, but it does get a bit wibble-wobbly timey-wimey after that, due to the sheer impossibility of pinning down anything resembling a comprehensible time line in the past few years of Whoniverse canon (thank you time skips and rewinding time and resetting the universe. Not Appreciated). So much willing suspension of disbelief begged on the part of your humble anon.
> 
> I also know nothing about computers, so I appologise for anything too ridiculous cropping up.
> 
> Much thanks go to my wonderful Beta who suffered a month of my whining. I sweat blood writing this, and she was always there with a towel :D

PART ONE

 

 _Christmas 2009_

Sarah Jane has always parceled her life into clear segments of time. Her time with the Doctor, her time at the Metropolitan, her time with Luke. And the time after.

She has been trying to glue together broken Christmas ornaments for twenty minutes when Luke appears before her, that frown on his face and hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"I need to speak to you," he says.

She can't help but feel something clench in her stomach.

She leaves the sticky pile of painted wood and string and glass, and sits on the sofa, hands folded in her lap. Luke doesn't sit with her; he takes the chair opposite.

"I've been thinking," he begins. He's looking at the knees of his jeans where the blue is fading away. "I"m not sure if things are … for the best. Like this."

His eyes flick up to her for a second before quickly retreating back to his knees. His voice is a monotone, or at least it sounds that way to her. The words seem to follow each other with a dead inevitability, lining up before her mercilessly.

"I - I appreciate everything you've done for me. But it's not right. Me staying here."

Sarah Jane realises she's nodding. Why is she nodding? She doesn't agree. She wants him here. He should stay. Does he not know this?

"I think Mrs Wormwood was right. I've done all I can here. I should be doing so much more."

He looks at her now, can see she has gone perfectly still, can see where her nails are cutting red marks into her hands. He doesn't look away, it seems he's steadied his nerve. Finally saying what he wanted to.

"To be honest… it's awkward here. I'm so much cleverer than all of you. I'm not like you. There's no one I can talk to, no one who understands what I'm thinking. I didn't realise what it was I'd been feeling until I spoke to her. I can't tell you what it was like finally having someone knowing what I was thinking. It made it very clear in my mind what I wanted. And it's not this."

He stands. She copies him, unthinkingly.

"Yes. Yes of course." She hears her voice. It sounds so oddly calm. "You must do what you want."

He nods in acknowledgment, lips pursed in a tight line. He has a rucksack packed, leaning against the front door. She moves forwards to hug him, but he steps back. Her arms fall to her sides. At least the churning feeling has gone from her stomach. She doesn't feel anything now.

He swings the backpack up on his shoulder, and holds out his keys. They are sharp and cold against her fingers.

*****

Clyde has his hands shoved deep in his pockets against the biting December wind. It's barely a couple of minutes around the corner and up the road to get to Luke's and Rani's, but the cold creeps in and pinches and snatches at his skin. He is shivering by the time he can see the imposing pile of number 13, looming over the post-war terraces squatting beside it.

Luke is coming out of the drive, walking quickly, head down. He increases to a trot to intercept him.

"Luke! Luke, I was looking for you."

Luke pulls up short, keeping a careful distance from Clyde. Clyde notices the overstuffed backpack on his shoulder, and feels a second of confusion.

"I was going to ask you and Rani over, I've been experimenting with my Christmas dinner menu and I wanted you guys to try a few things… but if you're going somewhere…?" He leaves it a trailing question, hoping Luke will fill in the rather large blanks.

"I am," Luke replies, starting up a fast pace down the pavement. A little snow falls.

"Where?"

"Away."

Clyde grins. He's not sure what's going on, but Luke can't keep anything from him for long.

"C'mon mate, that's not an answer."

Luke stops abruptly, his fingers wrapped tight around the strap of his backpack till the knuckles show white.

"Fine. You want an answer? I'm getting away from here. All this. Do you really think I was going to hang around here forever?"

Clyde opens and shuts his mouth uselessly for a second or two. "I - I don't understand. Did you have a fight with Sarah Jane?"

"You don't understand – of course you don’t. What do you ever understand?"

Clyde's brain isn't processing this. He's seen a lot of strange and unsettling things in his time, but this something else.

"Let me make this perfectly clear to you. Please leave me alone. I can look after myself. I don't need you trailing me like a wet-nurse."

"Right… I didn't mean to … you should have said." Clyde's scarf has slipped, allowing the wind to slide round his neck, but he doesn't fix it.

"I'm saying now. Do you honestly think I would want to stay friends with someone like you? You were practice."

Luke readjusts his strap and starts walking. Clyde stares hard at the moss growing along the cracks in the pavement. In the grey winter light all its colour has been drained.

*****

Luke hitch hikes west. He gets to Amsbury and sits in a bus stop outside Greggs with a chicken bake, trying to warm his fingers. At dusk he sets out down the old road out of town. There is a thin tarmac strip edged by grass running down the side of the road. He can feel the frozen air rolling off the plain and cutting into his cheeks. He can just about still see his breath before him, though the light is failing. The A-road is too minor to be lit. As he reaches the crest of the hill, the landscape in front of him falls away into darkness. There is an ant-like line of headlights strung out into the valley. The faint outline of the slabs can just be seen at the fork in the road.

The lights of Amsbury behind him, he keeps walking, following the steep incline. Where the path runs out, he darts across the road between the traffic to pick it up again on the other side. In the car park there are still a few cars left, here and there, and one frozen-looking tour group being herded back onto their bus. He hunkers down behind the toilet block, counting the engines as they leave. He gives it another fifteen minutes, before making his way to the entrance. The lights have all been switched off, and it is inky in the subway beneath the road. He has a torch in his bag, but he leaves it there. He knows the tunnel is roughly 50 feet long; there will be a sloping path at the far end. He breaks ground, and there it is.

Stonehenge. He approaches, following the path until he's close, then steps over the string marker. It is an overcast night. No stars show. Except one.

He kneels on the brittle grass, by one of the fallen stones. He presses his palm to it. His fingers are cold without their gloves.

"I did what you said."

He keeps his hand pressed against the stone, then rests his forehead next to it.

*****

Sarah Jane doesn't answer the doorbell. Clyde's beginning to worry. He fishes out the key from under the plant pot and lets himself in. Sarah Jane is sitting at the foot of the stairs, eyes smudged and mouth twisted down.

"Sarah Jane, what's going on. I just saw Luke and he - " Clyde's words fall over themselves in his rush but she cuts him short.

"He's gone." It seems to take her a few moments to drag herself back from wherever she'd been.

*****

When he wakes he is stiff and iced. His limbs don't want to move properly, and he staggers, falling against one pillar as the feeling returns to his feet. Over in the car park, a car has arrived. Early morning staff setting up for the day. The east is streaked pink and cream. The day will be clear and cold.

He hops the fence, his aching fingers struggling to grip the metal. Then he is over, and moving back down the path at a jog. He knows where he must go next.

*****

Sarah Jane throws Clyde out as soon as he comes through the door. Clyde is starting to feel physically sick. Something is wrong and nobody will talk to him about it. Rani is gone until the new year, visiting family, so he goes home and has a muted Christmas with his mother. She carefully doesn’t ask what’s wrong. She knew he went to see Luke - Clyde suspects she knows more about them than he cares to imagine - and doesn’t press him when he says he wants some quiet time at home.

Sarah Jane doesn’t answer his calls. Luke’s mobile is off. In a ditch somewhere, Clyde thinks. He gives Rani a day to get back, then turns up on her doorstep. She doesn’t believe him, of course, and hammers on Sarah Jane’s door until Gita comes out and yells at them to leave the neighbourhood in peace. Her car is not there. There’s no point.

Sarah Jane’s car is not in the again drive until halfway through January. They are back at school. Clyde is sitting in the art room, scratching lines into the wooden bench with a compass left over from a year eight class, and ignoring his sketchbook lying open in front of him. He has deadlines approaching, but the grain of the wood is absorbing his attention.

Rani drops down beside him on a stool and takes the compass out of his hand.

“Stop punishing yourself,” she instructs him.

Clyde can feel her giving him one of her looks.

“I’m not punishing myself, I’m punishing the desk,” he explains.

She does not take this answer well. He swivels on his stool to look at her.

“I don’t understand why we’re not looking for him,” he says.

Rani’s lips are a thin line. She seems calm, but she is worrying at a lose thread at the hem of her skirt with one nail.

“Because he doesn’t want to be found.”

“That’s stupid. There’s something wrong, and we’re not doing anything to help.”

“There’s nothing we can do! Sarah Jane said - “

“You spoke to Sarah Jane?”

Rani can’t meet his eye. “Not really - I saw her, late at night , from my window and I chased after her. She didn’t want to talk to me, but she said - “ she takes a breath, and pulls at the thread, “Clyde, she said he wanted to leave. That he was bored here, he’d had enough.”

Clyde freezes, eyes widening a little. It takes a moment before he can drag his psychological defences back up, but he does it. He flips his sketchbook shut with a snap, and busies himself packing up.

“Clyde - “ Rani has a hand on his arm, but he shakes it off.

“It’s bullshit.”

“Clyde, Sarah Jane said - “

“Bullshit. Luke wouldn’t do that. Something’s wrong, and we’re all sitting around here like prize idiots.”

He swings his bag onto his shoulder and faces her, where she blocks his exit. He’s not thinking about the last thing Luke said to him. He’s not remembering the look of indifference on his face as he left.

“Not everything is aliens…”

“He would look for you.”

Clyde is breathing shallowly. He can feel his chest hitching, his stomach tight.

“But I belong here.” The words are out before she can take them back.

Clyde shuts down. His hand is tight around the strap of his bag, his face emotionless.

“Get out of my way.”

Rani doesn’t argue. She scoops her bag up, and presses herself against the bench so he can pass. Her fingers press into the compass-cut grooves as she watches him go.

*****

Clyde skips his afternoon classes. He can’t concentrate on algebra and other stupid, mundane things. He changes his mind three times at the bus stop. He doesn’t know where to go now. He can’t go home, his mum is there working from home. There’s no attic to go to anymore. He doesn’t want to see his friends from Hounslow. In the end he takes the bus to the tube station, then sits on the Central line to the other side of town. The train is near empty at that time of day, there’s only one other passenger at the far end of the carriage. He keeps his bag on his lap, arms wrapped around it.

He’s picked up a flyer about an exhibition by some Central Saint Martin’s students. It’s the sort of thing he can work into his sketch book and earn some approving looks from his teachers. He’d never cared about that sort of thing, until Luke.

The exhibition looks a bit stupid, he thought. Installation art, deep significances and all that. But right now he just wants to get as far away as he can. The other side of London will have to do.

The exhibition is in an old Victorian factory in Shoreditch. There are high windows with rows of small panes of glass, and a tall, narrow central door. He feels a bit self conscious in his school uniform, surrounded by a mix of hipsters and hippies, effete vintage-wearing post-ironic people draping them selves around the entrance smoking roll-ups with languid motions.

Inside it’s bright and stark. The front reception is awash with flyers and posters for other exhibitions and gigs and events. He slides his way through the milling students, and buys a ticket. The exhibition space is less crowded - the social event is all happening elsewhere. There are various pieces situated here and there, but the double height factory is dominated by a huge structure, a tree constructed from metal and plastic and wood and fabric, and all kinds of things. It’s roots spread out across the floor mirroring the branches above that fan out to cling to the ceiling, twining into lighting rigs and spilling paper leaves.

There are no barriers around It. Several people are right in amongst the roots, touching the trunk, sliding fingers into drilled knotholes. He skims through the section of the exhibition guide on it. The usual incomprehensible self-analysis and reflection, studded with a few interesting details on the construction. He walks its full circumference. There are little objects welded and sewn into the trunk. A stained oyster card, unraveling socks with owls on. On the far side of the trunk, high up where the branches began, is a small, battered piece of stone, with the faint outlines of a Celtic cross carved into it. It’s wedged between a piece of driftwood and scrap metal. It catches Clyde’s eye at once. He's seen its double in Sarah Jane’s attic. He scans through the guide again - stone object collected on a field walk in Somerset. Maybe he’s mistaken. He steps in between two thick roots, and peers at it on his tiptoes. He can’t remember what Sarah Jane had said it was, but he didn’t remember anything good.

There - the same mark. Rune-like in shape, but alien in nature. He walks through the exhibition as fast as he can, feeling for his phone in his pocket. He takes a fire door to an alley out the back.

He has Sarah Jane’s number up on the screen, and his thumb hovering over the dial button. He goes back and brings up Rani’s number instead. She doesn’t pick up. He checks his watch: she’s probably in class. He sends a text instead, leaning against the brick factory wall. The afternoon sun strikes the alley at an angle, leaving Clyde in the shade. It’s an access passage, mostly used for giant wheelie bins and recycling boxes, so Clyde’s attention is immediately drawn by the shadowy movement behind the bins.

It's a human movement, an arm and an elbow. A metal creak, a door. He finishes his message and puts his phone in his pocket before following. The door is marked danger, personnel only. It leads down into a cellar, gloomy and dank smelling, untouched by the renovation elsewhere. There is a single grime encrusted bulb hanging in the centre of the cellar. Thick wires and pipes follow the line of the ceiling, converging on a series of fuse boxes and switches. Someone is standing, head bowed in front of an open box. Clyde pauses at the foot of the stairs, pressed up against the wall to keep in the shadows; he is instructing himself not to regret coming down on his own. He can’t tell if the wall is damp, or if it’s his hand.

The figure turns his head slightly and the bulb lights the side of his face. Clyde feels a jolt in the pit of his stomach - he can’t stop his sharp inhalation, and Luke jerks round. Clyde can’t think - he should say something but there are no words to hand. Luke is staring at him, eyes wide.

The silence is sliced apart by an alarm ripping through the building. The lights cut out a second after. He can just make out Luke darting towards a corner of the room. Clyde follows without thinking. There is a door he hadn’t seen before. He struggles up the narrow stairs beyond. The alarm grows louder, and there is a crack of light above him. It’s a heavy trap door; he sets his shoulder to it and forces it up. He is in a back room, dark except for the high windows, and an open door before him. It leads to the exhibition hall.

Clyde realises now the noise is a fire alarm: the hall has been emptied of people. Luke has scaled half way up the trunk of the tree, toes wedged into gaps between the bark. One hand is wrapped around a low branch, the other digging a Stanley knife around the carved stone, gouging it out of its setting.

“Luke!” Clyde’s shouting his name before he’s even begun to try and work out what’s going on. “Luke!”

Luke glances at him over his shoulder, then drops down to the floor, and takes off running to the fire door Clyde had used earlier, stone carving and knife in hand. Clyde gives chase, a few seconds behind. Always behind Luke. He sometimes wonders if he’ll ever catch up.

He barrels through the fire door, just as Luke is realising there is no other exit behind the bins. A quick glance tells him the front of the alley is swarming with people, half blocked by a fire engine. Luke is standing in front of the bins, shifting from foot to foot and watching him warily. The knife is still in his hand.

Clyde shuts the door behind him, dampening the sound of the alarm. He holds his hands up to show he’s got nothing on him. Luke is like a caged animal, tense and pacing.

“Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

Luke looks stunned by the rapid fire questions. He stares at Clyde, almost desperately.

“Go away.”

Clyde moves to the centre of the alley, blocking Luke’s way.

“Not likely. Are you coming home? You have to come home, Sarah Jane is going mental.”

“Clyde, please. I’m going to leave and you can’t tell anyone you saw me.”

“What are you talking about? You have to come home - “

“I can’t!” Luke cuts him off.

Clyde moves towards him, and Luke edges back, bumping into the bins.

“Sarah Jane won’t be angry - she just wants you back, she’s your mum, she’s worried, we all are.”

Luke’s mouth is set in a frown, his brows drawn together. “I’m not going back.” He is agitated. He tries taking a step forward, eyeing the distance to the end of the alley. “Please, don’t try and stop me. I made it a clean break before. Pretend you never saw me today.”

“I don’t understand - are you in some kind of trouble? Talk to me, Luke. You know you can trust me, right?”

Luke looks at him, his hands clenching around the knife and the carving. There is a cold January breeze gusting down the alleyway, tugging his hair away from his face. His mouth twists down sharply, then he schools his face back to controlled expression.

“I can’t - I won’t go back.”

“What do you mean? It’s your home. We need you.”

“I don’t need you.” He almost spits it. “Okay? I don’t need you. I don’t want to be there. I tried to make you understand this before.”

Clyde’s expression hardens. “Well, I’m sorry, you’re fighting a losing battle there, because I’ll never understand this.”

“Then you’re being stupid!” Luke snaps. “You have some delusion that we’re a big dysfunctional happy family, but we’re not. Can’t you see that?”

Clyde looks like he’s been hit.

“You can’t mean this.”

“I do," he says simply.

Luke’s fingers curl around the handle of the knife. Clyde eyes the blade. He’s never seen Luke hold anything as a weapon before.

Clyde tries another tack, trying to think fast enough to save this train wreck of a conversation.

“ … If things go wrong, if you have arguments - it doesn’t mean a family isn’t working. You talk about things and make it work. You don’t just give up.”

“I’m not your dad, Clyde, you can’t try and talk me into coming back.”

“I - “

Luke doesn’t let him go on. “I hate it when you talk to me like that. Like I’m not properly human yet. I don’t need to you tell me what to do in every situation. I can manage somethings myself.”

Clyde is cowed now. Luke is standing right before him, but he seems miles away. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” He takes step forward, bringing them inches apart. He reaches a hand and touches the inside of Luke’s wrist with his fingertips. “I - I thought. I mean, I understand if I upset you then… but… I thought we were…”

The touch isn’t much, but Luke colours, high on his cheek bones, his breath coming rapidly. Close enough to see the flecks of hazel in Clyde’s iris, Luke looks him in the eye.

“Don’t you get it? That was practice, too.”

Clyde drops his hand like he’s been burned.

Luke lets his gaze fall, stares at the ground.

“Don’t try to find me.”

He slides past Clyde, being careful not to touch him, and runs off down the alley. The rubber soles of his shoes smack and echo against the cobbles. Clyde stares at the space Luke has left when the muffled whine of the alarm finally cuts out.

*****

It is two days before Luke is in Amsbury again. He had a nasty run in with a Heligaen who was set on getting the carving for itself, and Luke was been forced to ram his fingers into the alien’s four eyes to stop it from strangling him. He’d washed his hands in the toilets in the Festival Hall until his fingers went numb, but he could still feel bits of gunk under his nails. The bright side had been that, in the skirmish, the Heligaen’s wallet had fallen out of his pocket. Luke had snatched it up and rifled through it. The alien had been posing as a dance instructor from Kilburn. Most of the contents was useless, so Luke tossed it back at the figure writhing under the sinks with its hands clutched to his face, but not before pocketing the twenty pound note.

He takes a tourist bus straight to the site, and spends his change on his first hot meal in a week. He hops the fence as he did before, once the staff have all gone. The stones are larger, colder than before. There are stars tonight.

He kneels by the fallen stone again, feeling the mulched remains of snow soaking into his jeans. He takes the carving from his pocket, and fits it into a little hollow on the face of the stone. It doesn’t quite seem to match up. He can feel his heart racing. If he’s got it wrong, if he’s made a mistake -

There is no mistake. The faint lines on the carving seem to grow clearer, crackling and thrumming where they meet the stone of the circle.

Luke holds his hand over it, palm down, and takes the knife in his other hand. Not giving himself time to think, he cuts a shallow wound, bisecting the lines on his hand. A few drops of blood spill down onto the stone, causing it to crackle and fizz. He covers the carving with his bleeding hand, leaving it there for a second before lifting it to reveal a smeared red mark. The heat from the stone is fierce. It’s already melting some of the small channels of ice left here and there on the rock. A steady drip drip sound can be heard beneath the hum of energy; half the melting ice, and half the trickle of his blood, warm against his wrist as it slips down to stain the grass rust red.

He is feeling nauseous. Because of the bloodletting, or the anticipation for what’s to happen next - he’s not sure which.

He sits back on his rucksack to keep him off the frozen ground, and wraps one arm around his legs, his wounded hand curled to his chest. All he can do is wait.

It’s gradual. A slow, steady thing. The light around the stone brightens, clusters along the lines of the carving, forming into a pool in the centre. Bit by bit, it begins to fling up tendrils of light to the sky. They stretch up higher and higher, curling up beyond the stones. Luke tilts his head back, watching them work their way up to the stars. It seems as though there is one they fix upon, that grows in strength to meet them.

He has to squint now, it is so bright. Then – it’s like a flood gate has burst - the light is a burning column reaching straight up. The heat is curling the ends of his hair and the low hum has grown to a roar.

Something is forming in the centre of the column, crouched on the rock. Luke pulls his knees tighter against his chest. He is too tired to move. He has done it. It’s worked.

The figure grows clearer, defined in shadows within the light. The more solid the figure grows, the dimmer becomes the column light. It is as though the figure is absorbing the light, the trembling bright light subsumed into the dark ripples that swathe it.

The last of the light vanishes, and the figure raises her head.

“Hello, Luke.”

His eyes struggle to adjust to the change in light. He can tell she is looking at him. He clenches his bleeding hand against his chest.

“Hello, Mrs Wormwood.”

 

PART TWO

 

 _July - November 2010_

“Faster, Micky! We’ll miss it!”

Martha holds the hatch open as Mickey struggles out onto the roof. He is up in an instant, brushing himself off.

“You try climbing for your life while trying to aim at a three inch high target,” grumbles Mickey as Martha slams down the hatch on a swarm of mechanical centipedes with a hunger for flesh.

They lose no time in crossing the roof, following the tracking device Martha has been nursing for the last few days. They hunker down behind a series of vents, while she adjusts dials and tugs wires. The signal is flickering, but strong enough to work with.

They were missing several digest of the code for the energy trace, which they have been tracking. It is a project Martha brought with her from UNIT. UNIT hadn't been interested when she'd suggested a link between several disturbances in the past six months. They said the link was too tenuous, they didn't have time to go haring off after every possible suspicious bit of energy. She has found out the hard way that arguing got you nowhere.

Micky, however, had been more that ready to listen - and she had been right. The partial code she had, had lead them from a mass poisoning in Australia to a spate of arson attacks in Peru. And now to this roof in Finland. To the far side, beyond the heating ducts, if it was that accurate.

They sneak closer. It is too quiet on the roof. Mickey doesn’t like to think what could be waiting for them behind the ducts, if the centipedes were anything to go by.

They are too late - there is nothing there. Martha quickly scans the area. They were only minutes off, if that. The trace is still strong.

“Got it!” Martha can’t control her grin. “That’s the full code. We can get a proper track on them now.”

Mickey holsters his blaster, and looks at the scanner she’s holding out to him. He’s picked up enough over the years that the scramble of numbers and symbols is starting to mean something to him.

Her face falls. “That is - if we had a computer powerful enough. I’ve no idea where to get that tech outside UNIT. Or Torchwood.”

This time it is Mickey’s turn to smile. “I think I know someone.”

“Really?” Martha follows him as the cross back to the hatch, tucking the tracker safely inside her jacket.

He nods. He toes the hatch, listening to the scuttle and clack of the metal insects below. He takes out his blaster again and re-calibrates the beam.

“So, where are headed?” she asks, doing the same.

Mickey gets a firm grip on the handle and looks up at her. “London,” he says and yanks the hatch open.

*****

The matter beam dumps Luke down on the metal floor of the ship with a shuddering jolt. A spike of pain lances through his shoulder. He sits up slowly, letting his balance return. He’s travelled that way countless times now, but he’s still not quite used to it.

“That was too close.”

Mrs Wormwood is sitting at her control desk, watching him. He gets to his feet, and holds out the metal canister he had in his hand.

“I got it, didn’t I?” He tries not to sound petulant.

She takes it from him, lips pursed in a tight smile as she runs her thumb over it.

“Yes. Yes you did. I knew I was right to trust you.” Her gaze flicks up to him, a look almost of pride in her eye. “No one else could have managed that.”

Once last inspection of the canister, and she deposits it safely in a hidden drawer in the desk. Luke shoves his hands in his pockets, blushing a little at the compliment.

“It was simple, really,” he explains, “once I figured out how to jam the deadbolt code.”

Mrs Wormwood is looking at him in that way he has grown accustomed to. He tentatively places it as fond. It quickly vanishes, though, when she catches sight of the patch of skin exposed where his sleeve has ridden up. She snatches his wrist from his pocket, and pulls him closer so she can inspect the tiny punctures in his skin. She pushes up his sleeve, and sees they stretch from just above the elbow right down to his fingers. Most are red and irritated, but some are tinged yellow and green. She runs a finger over the marks and makes a tutting noise.

“I told you to look after yourself! What’s this?”

“Oh… yeah… mechanical centipedes.” He tries to tug his arm away, but her grip is sold. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

She looks up at him from under an arched brow, but refrains from commenting on that remark. “You’d best have this looked at right away,” she says instead. “I won’t have any arguments. Oh, Luke, you do make me worry.”

Finally, she lets his arm go, and he holds it to his chest, rubbing at the bites.

“I’m sorry.”

She stands, smoothing non-existent creases from her skirt. “I know you are. Don’t be silly. It’s a mother’s lot in life to worry about her son.”

Luke stiffens. He continues to look at a rivet in the wall somewhere over her left shoulder. He can catch her shoulders sagging, then she has taken a step forward and has a hand to his cheek.

“I will always think of you as my son,” she says. “Even if you don’t think of me as your mother.”

He can feel his cheeks growing hot. She drops her hand, and he takes a rapid pace back.

“I - I should get my arm treated.”

He doesn’t look at her, pulling his sleeve down over his marked skin.

“Yes. Yes, go on then.” She smiles tightly, her hands clasped before her.

He is out of the room without a second’s thought. It is a short way to the medical facilities. They are clean and well lit, and the staff leave him alone after slathering his arm in a pungent cream. The red bits take the longest to fade. He watches his arm, watches the cream absorb into his skin. They’ve worked it right along his fingers. It leaves a faint tingling sensation, a little like the after-effects of pins and needles. He looks at his palm, open before him. There is one unnatural mark, a thin scar bisecting it from the base of his thumb, stopping just under his little finger.

He is released soon after, and finds Mrs Wormwood waiting for him in the corridor.

“There’s something I want to show you.”

He keeps his distance, trying to read anything in her face, but her expression is perfectly schooled.

“Come on, we have to be quick. We’ve only got a few minutes.”

She holds her hand out to him, and after a flicker of hesitation, he takes it.

Their previous tension is forgotten. Her eyes are bright and she talks animatedly as she leads him to an observation deck. The window shields slowly grind back.

“The Waterfall Storms of the dark side of Jupiter,” Mrs Wormwood explains as Luke presses his face up against the glass.

It’s stupid to say he’s never seen anything like it. He’s never _imagined_ anything like it. The planet engulfs the whole viewing panel. There is no horizon, nothing but the crashing gases plunging in whorls and eddies that hypnotise him.

Mrs Wormwood is watching him, her face lighting up at his look of wonder.

“It’s amazing,” he says a little breathlessly. “I never thought I would get to see something like this. My mum once told me she’d…”

He trails off and glances sideways at her.

She is angry. Luke has seen it enough times to know the signs in the tight line of her mouth and the stiffness of her back. She says nothing, watching the storms. Luke does the same, with a growing sense of unease. The storms have lost their beauty. He does not want to be here watching them with her any more. The lights are harsh; he can see the outline of his own reflection in the foot thick glass.

“Why do we need the canister?” he asks in a strained voice. “I can’t see how it fits into the - “

“I do not appreciate these insolent questions,” she snaps. “We need the canister because I say so. If I tell you to do something, that is all the reason you need. Or do I have to remind you there are consequences to your insubordination?”

Luke feels his chest constrict; he can’t breathe properly. Her expression is so carefully controlled he doesn’t know what to make of what she’s said.

“No. I understand,” he forces out.

She nods slightly, a formal, brusque motion. “Good. Now, the rest of the starfall is about to begin.”

She turns back to the window. Luke exhales slowly, and steadies his hands against the metal frame to stop their shaking. He feels light headed and nauseous. He barely sees the glittering display before him.

Behind the gnawing fear that works a lump into his gut, there is one thought left unanswered. What did he really steal for her?

*****

Sarah Jane ignores the door bell. She’s in the middle of a tricky experiment, and has no desire to interrupt it to tell Clyde or Rani to go home. The determination she had always admired in them before has be a nuisance. She’s better off on her own, she knows that now. It was a nice sojourn playing happy families, but now she can get back to her real work, work that doesn’t give her time to cook tea for ravening teenagers. She’d missed it, she decides. Losing whole days to a project, traveling at the drop of a hat.

It is Mr Smith who interrupts her effectively. She’s been ignoring the bell for a good fifteen minutes when he lurches open with his noisy fanfare.

“Sarah Jane, are you aware that you have two visitors?”

She doesn’t look up from where she is transferring a spatula-full of bright blue powder.

“Answering only encourages them. They’ll give up soon.”

“Are you aware that your victors are in possession of 26th Century technology?”

Sarah Jane glares at Mr Smith, which is rather dissatisfying with no face at which to direct her ire. She casts down her tools in frustration.

“I have better things to do than get irresponsible children out of trouble,” she mutters to herself.

She yanks the doors open, fully ready to rain down a world of anger, but stops short. It's not Clyde and Rani. It's a man and a woman in military grade all-weather clothing, carrying battered travelling gear.

The woman beams at her, a look of relief on her face.

“Thank goodness! We were starting to get worried.”

Sarah Jane stares at her, lost for words. She honestly never expected to see Martha Jones or Mickey Smith again.

“What are you doing here?” she finally comes up with.

“It’s a long story,” Martha explains. “I’m sorry we aren’t meeting again under better circumstances.”

“What circumstances, exactly, are we in now?”

Martha and Mickey exchange a look.

“Can we come in?” asks Mickey. “We have a favour to ask. We need to use Mr Smith”

*****

 _0.46 n. Tring (August 2010, Gregorian Calendar)_

The storm blows in just as Jack and Alonso are disembarking. They’ve been six days in a junk shuttle, shunting between Class M asteroids to reach this pointless speck of a planet; then another 6 hours to reach this island. It is little more than a grey chunk of rock jutting out of a slate sea. The shuttle leaves as soon as their bags are on the ground, whipping up the spray and soaking them. Bent, gravel-encrusted trees mark out a path that twists up the hill to the imposing house squatting at the top. They struggle up against the wind.

They are shown in straight away and stripped of their sopping coats and boots. The electricity is down; the building is lit by candles ranged around the furniture. The Admiral is waiting for them in her study. A fire is crackling in the grate, but does little to cheer up the cave-like room. It reminds Alonso of the library in first class, back on the Titanic, all dark wood and heavy leather-bound tomes. The candles are replaced here with a couple of storm lamps positioned among the cluster of over-stuffed chairs arranged around the fireplace.

The Admiral is a tall woman, with closely clipped hair and sharp, frost blue eyes. She greets them brusquely, and motions for them to sit. Jack explains the reason for their visit, and the Admiral’s eyes flick up to a small ironwood box on the mantelpiece. Alonso isn’t the only one to notice this. Jack stands, and the Admiral stands too, placing a hand proprietorially over the box.

“You have to believe me,” Jack says. “You have no idea what that really is.”

Alonso shivers. It is cold in the room, but there is something else. He doesn’t trust the Admiral, or this place. The sooner they leave the better.

“It is a family heirloom, sir, and I would thank you not to - “

Admiral is cut off mid-speech by the distant sound of splintering glass. Jack’s hand is at his gun in a second.

“Don’t leave this room,” he instructs before padding away soundlessly in his socks.

The Admiral passes a hand over her eyes. Alonso is watching the crack in the door where Jack disappeared – until his attention is caught by the creak of a floorboard behind him. His stomach is as heavy as lead; his breath caught in his throat, he turns slowly in his chair.

There is someone half hidden in the shadows in the corner of the room, not much more than an outline of a body, with an outstretched arm. They are holding a gun, levelled at the Admiral. The Admiral is watching the barrel, frozen where she stands, half turned oat from the mantelpiece. Perhaps thirty seconds pass, no more, counted out by the carriage clock. The silence is broken by the door crashing open with Jack there, clutching at the door frame and trying to catch his breath. His eyes are trained on the figure, on the gun.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” the figure replies - a male voice. “Give me the box.”

“Not likely.” Jack moves forward from the door, hand going to the weapon at his hip.

The man comes forward out of the shadows rapidly. The storm lanterns cast a warm orange glow over him, at odds with his icy expression. He is young, a teenage boy with a grown up gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says. “Are you sure you’re faster than me?”

Jack’s expression changes to a look of confusion, something Alonso hasn’t often seen.

“Wait - Luke? Luke Smith.” Gun forgotten, Jack is staring at the kid. “Right? Sarah Jane’s boy?”

Alonso can see the boy’s eyes widen, but he keeps the gun held steady.

“I remember you.” Jack keeps speaking. “When the earth was stolen. You were there, with Sarah Jane, on the screen.”

“Hang on, you know him?” asks Alonso, incredulity thick in his voice.

“No. He doesn’t.” says Luke through a clenched jaw, ignoring Jack. He motions to the Admiral with the gun. “Give me the box. Now.”

“Your mom told me all about you,” says Jack. “She was very proud of you.”

There is something in Jack’s tone that Alonso can’t read. Some part of him he doesn't know yet.

“The box,” Luke repeats.

The Admiral still has one hand on the ironwood box, and is looking cautiously between him and Jack.

“I don’t think she would be anymore, if she could see this.”

“Shut up,” Luke snaps, his voice unsteady.

The Admiral seems to have made her decision. She snatches the box up and holds it out to Luke. “Look, just take it and get out. I’m giving it to you.”

“No!” Jack's hands are clenched by his side. It's taking all of his effort to stay calm.

“What does it matter? It’s worthless. We’ve had it for generations, it’s just a box."

“On the floor. Kick it over,” he instructs.

The Admiral does so, and Luke crouches to pick it up, keeping his gun trained on her at all times. He straightens, and slips the box into a pocket inside his jacket.

“What happened to you?” Jack is still staring at the kid, with the same unreadable expression.

Luke glares at him, and looks almost about to respond. But he bits back his words and regains his composure. He has the box.

But he doesn’t lower the gun. He cocks it instead, and points it at the Admiral’s head.

Alonso is leant forward in his chair, fingers digging into the arms. He feels stupid being the only one sitting down. Jack is standing in the middle of the room in his socks, just looking at this kid.

“What are you waiting for?! Jack, take him out!”

Luke starts, his eyes darting over to study him. Alonso tenses, his breathing shallow. Jack quickly takes another step forward, hands held up before him.

“Luke, listen to me. You don’t want to do this.”

“I have my orders.”

“Trust me, this isn’t something you can take back. It will change you. Killing someone - “

“How do you know this is my first time?” he interrupts

“I won’t believe you’re capable of that,” Jack says softly.

Luke snaps. The composure he has been clinging to slips away.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of!” he yells.

Jack takes a step forward again, and Luke swings the gun round onto him.

“I’ve heard about you," he says. "This doesn’t matter to you, does it?” He moves his arm, bringing his sights to rest on Alonso. “How about this?”

Jack freezes. “Don’t - “ he chokes out. “You have what you want. Just go.”

Alonso looks, disconnectedly, at the gun, at Jack. It feels as though he has dropped out of reality for a moment. Luke is trembling, the gun jerking about in his hand; his chest hitches on each snatched breath.

“Shit.” Luke swears and quickly presses a series of buttons on his transmat wrist cuff. He vanishes.

Alonso sinks back in his chair. He laughs, a high pitched, hysterical noise.

“What on earth was that,” he asks, looking up at Jack.

Jack seems lost in thought for a moment. He glances at Alonso, his jaw tight.

“I don’t know. But I’m damn well going to find out.”

*****

Mrs Wormwood sits at her command desk, illuminated by a green light that comes from the screen before her. She is digging her nails into the palms of her hands where she has them clasped.

“I won’t - I can’t do that to him. Can’t we substitute - “

The screen emits a static screech. She glances away, her mouth down-turned.

“I understand.”

She looks back momentarily, before turning it off. She shuts her eyes, steadying her breathing. An alert sounds from the transmat station, and her eyes snap open. Luke appears on the mat, gun in hand, breathing heavily.

“You have it?” she asks.

Her heels clack on the metal floor as she crosses to him. He takes the box out of his pock and hands it over.

“Good. And the old woman?”

It is a moment before Luke will meet her gaze.

“She’s alive.”

“What?” Mrs Wormwood asks sharply.

“I - I couldn’t do it.”

“I said no witnesses!”

Luke bits his lip. He face is flushed with anger.

“You disobey your orders.” Her tone is calm, despite her expression.

“No!” He looks up. “I got what you wanted.”

She crosses to the control panel, and keys in her passcodes.

“I warned you about what would happen if you disobey. Do you see the guard by the door?” Luke’s eyes flick to the woman standing by the door on the near side of the room. “I have contaminated her with the same nanovirus used on your friends. It will serve you well to see an example of what you risk with your silly stunts.”

She presses the button on the screen. The guard has barely time to register what has happened before she’s slumping against the wall, scrabbling at her chest.

“I - I can’t… breath…” she wheezes. “It burns.”

Luke is staring on in horror. “Stop it!”

Mrs Wormwood gives him a thin lipped smile. “There is no way to stop the virus once activated.”

The guard slides down the wall. Her face has gone greenish pale. A sweat has broken out on her brow. She reaches up one hand to her reddened eye, and it comes away bloody. Blood is smeared across her cheek. It begins to leak from her nose, and run from the corners of her mouth. She lets out a frightened whimper, causing more blood to run over her lips.

“You still have the gun,” Mrs Wormwood tells Luke, who starts. “You could stop her suffering. End it now.”

He looks at the weapon in his hand, then at the woman slumped on the floor, struggling for breath.

“Still not willing to kill?”

She takes the gun from his hand.

“Do you understand what happens if you disobey?”

He looks at her for a moment, his face blank and pale. He nods.

*****

 _September 2010_

“Clyde, maybe we should give it a rest?” Even though Rani has longer legs than Clyde, she is having to make an effort to keep up with him.

“I’m telling you, I saw them.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t. Just - do we really need to talk to Sarah Jane? It’s pretty clear she doesn’t want us hanging around anymore.”

Clyde hesitates. “Yeah. Well. She needs to know about this.”

Autumn has stained the leaves rich gold and blood red as they turn into the drive of 13 Bannerman Road. Clyde presses the bell while Rani holds back. She’s barely seen Sarah Jane since - since the new year. Rani has been weighed down by AS revision, and then spent the summer on an internship. Though Rani has been trying when she can, Sarah Jane has not answered the door, or the phone. She supposes it can’t hurt to let Clyde try.

To her surprise the door opens.

“You!” Clyde exclaims.

The man who answered the door is eating a sandwich, and regards Clyde suspiciously.

“You’re that squit from before,” he says.

“Who’re you calling squit?”

“You made me drop my sandwich. It was a nice one. M&S.”

“Well you got a new one now.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” asks Rani.

The guy seems to notice she’s there for the first time.

“I’d like to know that. Are you following us?” The question is directed at Clyde.

“Following you? You were the ones at my school. Scooping up alien guts. Where's the other one?”

“And where’s Sarah Jane?” Rani comes up to stand next to Clyde, peering over the man’s shoulder into the house.

He takes another bite of his sandwich as Sarah Jane appears in the hall behind him.

“Clyde! Rani!" she exclaims as she sees them. "Now’s not a good time.”

The man steps back and Sarah Jane takes his place in the doorway, arms folded against the brisk autumn wind. She is wearing a new waistcoat Rani hasn't seen before.

“I came to tell you I saw these two jokers slicing and dicing aliens behind the school canteen,” says Clyde, folding his arms. “But I guess you already know that?”

Sarah Jane raises an eyebrow at the man. “Mickey, care to explain?”

He wolfs down the last crust, and brushes the crumbs from his hands. “We ran into some trouble on the way here. Lothar parasites with the school delivery of chicken nuggets as a host.”

Sarah Jane pulls a face. “I take it Clyde saw you?”

“Saw. Interrupted. Chased. Made me lose my lunch. All of the above.”

“I see.”

A woman appears behind the two of them. “What’s going on? You!” she cries when she notices Clyde.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” grumbles Rani.

Sarah Jane gives her a considering look, then moves aside to let them in.

“Fine. I suppose we might need your help.”

*****

Luke takes the stairs two at a time running back from the security office. It was a complex set up - understandable in the situation - but easy enough to disable. The security guard was a bigger problem. Luke’s arm still aches from the recoil. It’s such a small thing, attached to his wrist under his cuff, but the jolt when it passed the current through the security guard almost took him off his feet. He’s nearly depleted all the power, though. They need the guard out for a good several hours.

Mrs Wormwood is waiting for him out on the asphalt.

“There was a lot of security - are you sure this is safe?” he asks.

She puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a bright smile. “You’re always safe with me. Trust me.”

*****

It’s over a month before they pick up the energy trace again. Though they are using Mr Smith to track it now, it simply doesn’t show up. When it does, Mr Smith traces it to the south east entrance to the Westfields Shopping Centre. It is a very tight squeeze to get all five of them into Sarah Jane’s car, but somehow they manage it, and are spilling out behind the delivery entrance in fifteen minutes flat.

Martha has her hand held tracker, and Sarah Jane has one installed onto her watch-scanner. They follow them round the side of the building, to an empty tarmac loading bay, with a couple of white transit vans parked to one side. Clyde is watching where they have come from when Rani is suddenly dragging him behind one of the vans. They watch, hearts racing, through the windows. . There is the sound of feet, and then someone is there, half obscured by the door frame. Rani’s hand is still on his wrist, holding him in place, because it’s Luke, on the other side of the van and Clyde is digging his nails into the rubber window surround. Mrs Wormwood steps into view, and places one hand on his shoulder. She nods at him, and then they are gone, never anything more than a blurred glimpse through grimy glass.

Sarah Jane, Mickey and Martha cluster behind their van, and the plan is laid out.

“There are secret caves under the Shopping Centre?” Rani asks incredulously. “Shouldn’t the council know about this sort of thing?”

“They do,” Martha explains. “That’s why we need you, Clyde, to go to the security office - they have extensive CCTV, but also warning systems for any breach of the caves. You can see what everyone’s doing from there, and keep us all in contact.”

“But - “

“No arguments, Clyde,” Sarah Jane cuts in. Her tone is low and sharp like cut glass. “This is too important.”

He nods. She saw Luke too. Martha is giving her arm a comforting squeeze, before continuing with the rest of the instructions.

“Mickey and I will make one team, Rani and Sarah Jane another, this way we’ve both got trackers.”

“No. I’m going on my own,” she says, her face set.

Rani looks affronted. “I’m not staying here.”

“Go with Mickey and Martha,” says Sarah Jane. “But I can’t have anyone else to worry about. Not when - “ She cuts off mid sentence, and shuts her mouth firmly.

“Fine, Rani, you come with us," offers Martha. "Is everyone clear?”

She looks around the circle.

“Then let’s go.”

*****

Luke follows Mrs Wormwood into the caves through a door in the back of a supply cupboard. It leads to a narrow, cramped passage they follow by torch light, that twists and turns, working its way deeper underground. The cave itself when they reach it, is broken up by a series of jagged out crops of rock that thrust up form a floor some way bellow, forming stepping-stone like islands. Their passage leads them out onto a plateau of rock, from which juts something of a peninsular, which reaches out into the centre of the cave. Spindly stalactites form a curtain that half blocks the far side of the cave from view. On the centre of peninsular, there is a raised table of rock, from which a crystal seems to sprout. It is encased in a glass box that is sunk into the stone around it.

The peninsula is just wide enough to allow the two of them to approach safely. Mrs Wormwood hesitates reverentially before it, her eyes lighting up. She slowly runs a finger along one edge. A metal lock appears half way along as her finger passes over it. She holds her other hand out to Luke.

“They key,” she breaths.

He reaches into his pocket, then his face falls.

“Oh no…”

Her head snaps around sharply. “Where is it?”

“It must have fallen out in the security office," he explains hastily. "The recoil from the stun gun, it nearly knocked me over. I’ll - I’ll get it back.”

He pivots on one heel, avoiding her furious glare, and darts back up the passage.

*****

On the other side of the stalactites, Micky, Martha and Rani are scrambling up a steep ledge of rock. They took one turning in the dark passages leading to the cave, letting Sarah Jane go in the other direction. Their passage takes a sharp incline, opening up overhead into the cavern. They pull themselves up to lie flat on a ledge of rock that curves round half the cave. The stalactites obscure Rani's view, but she can see a figure in the centre of the cave.

“Mrs Wormwood,” she whispers.

They watch as she examines a glass box containing a crystal, which begins to glow softly at her touch. There is a clatter of scree, and then Sarah Jane falls into view from behind a rock, dusty and rubbing one elbow. Mrs Wormwood has a weapon trained on her in moments.

“I think I’ll take your lipstick and watch, before we go any further,” she says calmly.

Sarah Jane pulls out her sonic lipstick and tosses it to the ground at Mrs Wormwood’s feet. She is looking up at her with an expression defiance Rani’s not seen for a while.

“Not bothering with the stage jewellery these days?” she asks caustically.

Mrs Wormwood arches a brow. “No. This is a little less subtle, I’ll admit, but it’s so much more effective.”

She fires a a blast at the rock face a foot away from Sarah Jane’s head. Sparks fly, and chunks of rock splinter off. Sarah Jane does not flinch.

“What have you done to Luke?” she asks.

“Nothing at all.”

Sarah Jane pushes herself up using the wall as leverage.

“You must have done something or he wouldn’t be working with you.”

They stand opposite each other, the gun in Mrs Wormwood’s hand separating them.

“On the contrary. He came to me.”

“He would never do that.”

Mrs Wormwood looks her over. “What do you care?”

“I care!” exclaims Sarah Jane, her voice rising sharply.

She cocks her head to the side, considering. “Really? Because you let him walk out without any question as to why, or where he was going. I think it was a relief for both of you.”

Sarah Jane is shocked into silence. A small smile curls the corner of Mrs Wormwood's mouth, relishing the look on Sarah Jane's face.

“Oh yes, he told me all about it.”

Sarah Jane hesitates, refusing to rise to the barb.

“How did you get back? You fell into the portal of Horath,” she questions.

“Do you know, Luke helped me with that, too. Bright boy. Such a shame to waste him on earth, don’t you think?” she smiles sweetly.

“Is that really why you came back? For Luke? I don’t think you’re capable of caring like that.” Sarah Jane behind to edge slowly away from the wall.

Mrs Wormwood takes several rapid paces forward, bringing the barrel of the gun to press against Sarah Jane’s forehead.

“Don’t you dare presume to know what I feel,” she hisses.

“You use people,” Sarah Jane says. “You might fool yourself into thinking you care, but you just use people.”

Mrs Wormwood's voice falls low and intent, thick with rage. “How much do you know about Horath, Miss Smith?”

She backs off, an unpleasant smile on her face.

“Because it seems to know an awful lot about you. Told me all sorts of things.”

“Told you? What do you mean, told you?”

“You trapped me with it, Ms Smith! You said it yourself. I fell into the portal, and I wasn't alone down there. But I escaped, with a little help. Now it’s my turn to help Horath. This crystal is all I need. And your son is going to help me get it.”

Sarah Jane looks behind Mrs Wormwood as she backs towards the plinth, and notices the crystal for the first time. Her face falls, a moment of confusion.

“But - but that crystal, it’s Xylok!” she says. "What do you need with that?"

“Oh, I know it's Xylok ” Mrs Wormwood lays her hand on the case. The crystal glows in response. “I told you. _Horath_ knows everything about you. And your son.”

*****

Luke picks his way through the junk piled up in the security office. There are lights flickering from the screens. Odd – he thought he’d disabled all the monitors. Someone is sitting at the desk, typing rapidly. He’s too slow to realise that it’s Clyde; he's stood too close, he could be seen at any moment. He panics, tries to back up but catches his heel on a box file and crashes into a shelving unit. He ends up flat on his back with files raining down on him. A hole punch lands square on his forehead and he lies there for a moment, waiting for his vision to clear. When the black spots fade, Clyde is peering over him, looking baffled.

“Luke?”

Luke stares at him, his panic growing. Clyde is looking at him suspiciously, a hard, mistrustful expression.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers.

“What?”   
He takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow the hammering of his heart. Struggling up from the mess of papers and office detritus, he lets his ankle give out from under him, and he lets out a strangled noise of pain as he falls. A hand catches his, and holds him up. Clyde lends him his shoulder, and helps him hop over and prop against the desk. His head is still throbbing, where the hole punch hit him. He can feel a warm trickle of blood on his temple.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

Clyde looks away awkwardly. Luke glances over at the monitors.

“Did you do that?”

Clyde follows his gaze. “What?”

“Fix them.”

He nods, still regarding Luke suspiciously. He retrieves some tissues from the desk and hands them to him. Luke takes them and presses them to his temple.

“Why are you working for her?”

Luke refolds the tissues and applies a fresh section to his cut.

“It’s… complicated.”

“She’s up to something, you know. She’s just using you.”

Clyde is glaring at him.

“I know,” replies Luke dully.

“Then why - ?”

“I - I thought I could trust her. I was so stupid.”

“No shit.”

He falls silent. Clyde is blocking the way to the door. On the far end of the desk Luke can see the small ironwood box. He glances back at Clyde.

“… Do you hate me?”

Clyde looks shocked. “What?”

“I’d understand if you hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” he replies too quickly.

Luke looks up tentatively. In the harsh neon light it is clear Clyde is blushing.

“I can think you’re a fucking idiot, though,” he says defensively.

Luke laughs. “Yeah, well, to be honest, I think I’m a fucking idiot.”

Clyde’s expression softens. He takes the tissue from Luke and cleans up the rest of the blood. He drops it on on the table when he’s done, and touches Luke’s forehead, gently, inspecting the wound.

“Do you think I’ll get a handsome scar?” Luke asks, watching Clyde’s face.

Clyde strokes his thumb along his skin, tracing the line of the cut far enough away not to cause any pain.

“Hmm.” He considers Luke for a moment. “You might get some Voldemort heckles.”

Luke is confused. “What?”

Clyde smiles. “Nothing. Don’t worry.”

Luke looks at him a moment, before leaning up and pressing his lips against Clyde’s. Clyde starts, and Luke is worried for a moment he will pull away. But then Clyde is kissing him back and Luke lets everything - Mrs Wormwood, the crystal - everything since he left drift from his mind, just for a short while. He brings his hand to Clyde’s neck and pulls him closer. The prongs jab out from his wrist cuff, pricking Clyde’s skin. He detonates the remaining power in the stun gun. There’s not much left, but it’s enough. Clyde slumps against him. Luke lowers him into the swivel chair, and positions him lying across the desk so he can’t fall.

He snatches up the ironwood box, and runs.

*****

His heart stops when he comes into the cave. Sarah Jane is standing opposite Mrs Wormwood with a gun pointed at her. The rasp of his breath is loud in his ears. She can’t be here, not after Clyde.

Mrs Wormwood is smiling at him. He feels sick.

“You have it?”

He comes back to himself with a jolt. She is gesturing to the box in his hand. Sarah Jane is looking at him, but he can't face her. He holds out the box.

“Get the crystal.” She directs him to the glass box.

“Luke, don’t!”

He looks straight ahead, and walks as though blinkered to the box. He takes the key out and turns it in the lock. The crystal comes away easily in his hand. It is warm and rough against his palm, like sand.

The moment the crystal lifts from the plinth, the ground shudders beneath him. He staggers, and falls against the plinth, clinging to it with one hand. There is a rumble building deep beneath him, making the whole cave shudder and convulse. Lose rubble is falling from the walls, and a stalactite fractures, coming crashing down between him and Mrs Wormwood. Sarah Jane has dived towards him in the commotion, pulling him down as more stalactites break off. The whole cave seems to be collapsing. The earthquake - if that’s what it is - is tearing the very rock apart. Jagged cracks are splitting the peninsula off from the plateau by the passage entrance. Luke feels it lurch beneath him violently. He clings to Sarah Jane as they begin to fall.

*****

Clyde comes to, to the sound of an alarm ripping through the office. He lifts his head from the desk, struggling to piece together his fragmented memories. Luke was here… and then they - his cheeks flush at the memory. He hastily looks at the monitors. Emergency warnings are flashing up. Half the monitors are down, he can’t see Sarah Jane, or Rani or anyone. A string of red letters scroll across the operational screens:

 _Security compromised - Compound shutting down - Evacuate - Evacuate - Evacuate_

Clyde stares unseeingly for a moment. _Evacuate_.

He scrambles from his chair. Sarah Jane. Rani. He has to get to them.

*****

The ledge jerks forward. Rani slips, but a firm hand on her belt keeps her in place. Martha is giving her a thin lipped smile.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

“I’m not going with out Sarah Jane and Luke - they’re stuck over there.”

“It’s too dangerous!”

“I’m not going.” Rani's mouth is set in a firm line.

Enough of the stalactites have fallen that they can clearly see Luke and Sarah Jane clinging onto the peninsula of rock. From their height the fracture with the main plateau is clear. The falling stalactites are pummelling the fragile link; it is not long before it will break off completely.

“There must be something we can do!”

She casts a desperate glance between Martha and Mickey. Their ledge seems pretty stable so far. They’re protected from most of the stalagmites, and their exit is still clear. For the moment.

“I think I have an idea.” Mickey is pulling out a cord from his belt. “It’s a winch. Super strength, can take two tonnes.”

“We don’t need that much - just enough for Sarah Jane and Luke. Will it be long enough?”

“Should be.” He starts pulling out a length and bracing it around a rock. “We just need to get it to her.”

Martha and Rani wriggle up to the edge and feel the cable over.

“Sarah Jane!” Rani yells. The sound of breaking rock echos in the cavern, nearly drowning out her voice. “Sarah Jane!”

Sarah Jane looks round. Martha is trying to swing the cord towards.

“Grab the end!” she shouts.

Sarah Jane lets go of the rock she is clinging to and leans out over the void. Martha is struggling to control the cord, but after a few false attempts, Sarah Jane snatches it up and wraps it her around her wrist. Before they have a chance to pull her up, the peninsular fractures further, tilting forwards. Rani can hear Sarah Jane’s scream. The the rock shelf topples forward, and slams into the rock wall somewhere below their ledge.

For a moment she can’t see them - then she spots Sarah Jane making a leap from the peninsular to a ledge further down the wall. She is gesturing to Luke to follow her. Luke is crouching on the precariously balanced rock. He is further away; the jump is far, but possible.

“Luke!”

On the far side of the cave, at the edge where the peninsular used to be, Mrs Wormwood is standing, flattened against the wall.

Luke is looking back to her, then to Sarah Jane.

The jump is equidistant either way.

“Sarah Jane! Rani!”

She looks over her shoulder to where Clyde is scrabbling up the ledge.

“What’s the hold up?”

She doesn’t answer, because he has reached the edge and can see for himself. Luke is still crouched, looking at Sarah Jane. From this angle she can’t she his face but she can see Sarah Jane’s. Rani feels her stomach sink. She knows Luke’s decision.

Luke rises up, preparing to move. The rock is starting to slip and his balance is precarious. He flings himself towards the plateau, and lands awkwardly, crushing his arm beneath him and collapsing onto his side at Mrs Wormwood’s feet. She yanks his injured arm up, keeping tight hold of him. His face, smeared with dirt and blood, twists in pain. He is looking right at them. Mrs Wormwood presses her wrist cuff and they vanish.

The peninsular collapses forwards, thundering into the void, taking a chunk out of their wall as it goes. Mickey hauls a near catatonic Sarah Jane up from the ledge, and they pelt through the collapsing tunnels. They burst out into the sunlight coughing and wheezing only minutes later. There are crowds massed outside - the evacuation, Clyde mumbles. They mix with the crowd, working their way to Sarah Jane’s car. They say little to each other. Sarah Jane is silent, her face blank. She does not seem to see anything before her.

*****

Amy clings to a usefully placed handle as the TARDIS lurches violently. The Doctor is flicking switches and twisting dials in some incomprehensible pattern.

“What the hell was that,” she asks, pulling herself back up.

“Something’s happening,” he says informatively.

“Yes, that was rather obvious.” Rory is mopping at the front of his shirt that now has a large juice stain.

“Where?” Amy looks at the dials over his shoulder.

The Doctor stabs at a button with one bony finger, and a map flickers up on the monitor. West London. He zooms in, pinpointing a location.

“Shepherds Bush,” he says, then his face falls. “… Near Ealing.”

“And that means?”

“Nothing good. Nothing good at all.”

“Doctor, what’s going on?”

He straightens up, smiling brightly. “Oh, just the end of the world. Fancy a quick jaunt back to save the place?”

 

PART THREE

 _December 2010_

Jack smacks his hand against the side of the monitor. It is on the fritz again. He’s rewired it three times, but somehow things always come down to old fashioned hitting. There is a crackle from somewhere deep within the electrics. The screen fuzzes over and clears again. He drags up a stool and sits before it.

“How’s it coming?”

Alonso looks up from where he’s been working. “Got it, finally. Should be coming through now.”

Jack peers at the monitor. Nothing – and then there they are. The same attic room he saw before.

“Miss Smith! Long time no see!’

Sarah Jane is looking at at him in shock over a mug of tea. A teenage boy in a pink polo shirt is handing out mugs from the tray he carries.

“Jack!” Martha scrambles up to see him better.

“Martha Jones - and Mickey Smith. Trouble if ever I saw it.”

The boy and the girl with them in the attic are introduced, and they get down to business. Jack explains his encounter with Luke. Sarah Jane’s expression clouds over, and Martha takes the lead in the conversation. Apparently he is too late. Luke has already used the key from the ironwood box.

“I know,” Sarah Jane says quietly. “The crystal - it’s Xylok.”

"What's a Xylok?" asks Alonso, who blushes when all eyes turn to him.

Sarah Jane is still sitting mute just as the edge of the screen, so Clyde comes forward.

"It's what Mr Smith - our computer - was created from. They're a crystalline race who can communicate with computers. They crashed on earth thousands of years ago, and got trapped beneath it. Mr Smith is made from one of the crystals that got thrown to the surface in the Krakatoa eruption. He tried to destroy the earth a while back, to free them, but we infected him with a virus and made him reboot."

Alonso stares at him for a moment, speechless. "Are you insane? You kept the evil computer?"

"He's alright now," replies Clyde defensively.

Jack elbows Alonso aside, pulling the screen round to face him.

"I've been doing some research of my own. This crystal in the cave, it's like the crystal that made Mr Smith - only a hundred times more powerful.

“You saw the security in that place - it’s got to be dangerous,” says Micky from where he’s perched on the arm of Martha’s chair.

“It is. It’s not just a memory cell, it’s - think of it like the start up drive on your laptop. It contains everything needed to fire up all the systems. With it you could create the most powerful computer in existence - out of anything at all.”

“But I don’t get it - how does that help the Horath?” asks Rani. “And what did she mean, about the Horath knowing all about you, Sarah Jane.”

"I don't know, Rani," she replies, downcast.

Alonso tugs the screen away from Jack again. "Hi, sorry, me again. What's this Horath thing when it's at home?"

"Something else we fought," pipes up Rani. "The last time we saw Mrs Wormwood. She was trying to release this cybernetic creature trapped inside the earth, in a portal in these standing stones, so she could use it to take over the universe. She opened the portal, but she - she fell in, and it closed."

Jack is frowning beside Alonso. "Hang on - but the portal at Whitebarrow is protected," he interjects. "Only humans can pass through the barrier to open the portal."

Rani glances at Sarah Jane, who has gone pale.

"Luke helped her," she says. "He was just buying time, waiting for us to arrive."

Alonso waits for Jack to reply, but he does not.

Martha leans forward. "You said that Mrs Wormwood said she'd been talking to Horath. If she was trapped with Horath, then that would explain how she did that."

"So she's in league with it?" asks Rani picking up one of the various mugs of tea scattered around them.

"It would seem so," replies Martha.

“… I had a really bad thought.”

It is Clyde, sitting right at the back of the group. He’s chewing on his lip, looking uncertain. They all turn around to look at him.

“I’m probably wrong but … if Horath is supposed to be a computer-y cybernetic thing, and the Xylok, that’s like… a crystal based computer. And they were both supposed to be trapped inside the earth…”

Rani pauses as she was about to take a sip of tea. “So she's in league with both of them?”

"I think it's worse than that," says Martha. She glances at Clyde. "The chances of there being two computer based life forms trapped within the earth are pretty slim."

"Well that would explain what she wanted with a Xylok crystal," says Rani.

“But what is she going to do with it?” asks Mickey.

Martha shrugs and looks at Sarah Jane. Sarah Jane seems to barely have heard anything they've been saying. She is staring out of the attic window at the dying light.

“Do you still have a trace on their transmat energy?” Jack asks suddenly.

Martha nods, and Mr Smith transfers the data to Jack’s screen.

“Where is that?” Rani is peering at the screen. “Wells?”

“It’s near Glastonbury, and Stonehenge,” explains Martha.

“Smallest city in Britain,” adds Mickey. “Because of its cathedral, that makes it a city." He pouts at the look Martha is giving him. "What? I can know trivia. Wikipedia is a great thing.”

Jack scans the information that comes scrolling across his screen.

“… I think it’s my turn to have a bad thought,” he says, reluctantly. “I think I know what they’re planning to do with that crystal.”

*****

Luke massages his hands. They have been cramping, with all the work he's been doing at the keyboard. It’s cold too, in the cathedral. He can see his breath cloud in front of his face. It is nearly done.

The infinity loops that create the double bracing arches in the centre of the building have been fully wired in. Its taken him a few days and some trial and error to get the system this far. He's not slept much, only snatching a few hours here or there. The crystal is at the centre of it all, communicating somehow with the technology he has set up. He has been wondering, though, if the crystal has been damaged, because he has had to create a lot of software himself, cobbling things together on the hoof.

He rubs his eyes, and squints at the fresh numbers on the screen, then slumps in frustration. He has attempted every possible solution he can think of, but there seems to be some flaw, something that he can't fix. The system, as it is, won't work.

He gets up from his work station to tell Mrs Wormwood. She is nearby in the transept, shielded by the bank of processors blocking in the arches. Luke hesitates when he hears her voice, hushed and intense. Peering round a pillar, he sees her face washed with green light.

“Yes - I understand. It will be done," she is saying. "The system is nearly complete. Of course I have a plan, have I not brought him this far? He is naive, he will do as I tell him. No. No, it shall be done soon. Tonight.”

It hits him with a cold certainty that Mrs Wormwood must be perfectly aware of the missing part of the system. But it's not missing. Just waiting to be installed.

“Tonight we shall use the boy complete the circuit, and this planet shall become your domain. Our domain. The largest computer the universe has known, woven into the very face of the earth. We shall make all dimensions tremble before us!”

Luke shuts his eyes, the strength going from his legs. What has he done?

*****

The Little Chef is packed out with people stopping off on their way home for Christmas. The roads are icy, with grey slurry banked up at the side of the motorway, slowing the traffic to a cautious crawl. The weather has closed in on the country in the last week, bringing wave after wave of snow. The wind comes sweeping over Salisbury Plain, pulling the temperature down bellow freezing, and the sky is a matte grey that blurs with the snow covered ground. They are at least warm, packed as they are into Sarah Jane’s little car. It’s more than a two hour journey to Wells in good weather, and at this rate it will take them far longer. They stop off at a service station when the car runs out of petrol. Sarah Jane fills the car while the rest take refuge in the Little Chef and order plates of chips. She pays in the shop, and is checking directions in the A to Z when she realises Clyde has come up beside her.

“Not hungry?”

He shakes his head. “I - I wanted to speak to you… about Luke.”

She closes the map book and puts it back on the shelf. He is glancing over his shoulder out into the petrol station forecourt. There is no sign of the rest of the group, they are still in the restaurant. It is too hot in the shop, she is beginning to sweat beneath her coat.

“You and me, we just want Luke back, right?” he says. “We won’t let him be the price of saving the world.”

She bites her lip, then nods.

“We don’t tell the others. When we get there, we split off. Find Luke. They can deal with this computer thing. Our priority is Luke.” His resolve is clear on his face, but the corners of his mouth still turn down.

She nods again, a small furtive movement. He returns the gesture, then leaves the shop and jogs over to the Little Chef. Dusk is drawing in.

*****

He sits at the desk, the screens and keyboards and bits and pieces of the computer laid out before him. There must be a loophole, a catch somewhere. Something he can do.

All there is is the gap he saw before. The gap waiting for him. He spends a good five minutes cursing himself for being so blinkered. Like Mrs Wormwood said. He’s naive. Stupid. For all his brains, he really knows very little, he decides. A really big social mistake, he smiles to himself bitterly. He’s good at those. She needs his brain to power the computer. That’s what he’d always been there for.

He goes through the schematics again, looking for anything he’d missed. There was just no way to stop it - if Mrs Wormwood didn’t use him now, she could just get another brain. And even if he took her out, this thing had been built now. It could so easily fall into the wrong hands. The Xylok - Horath - whatever, just had to wait for another chance to come along. They weren't going to give up that easily.

He chews his thumb nail, examining every weak link. He's so exhausted he almost doesn't notice it, but he does back again, tracing it through the plans. He runs several algorithms through the system, tries some variations. He can’t stop it. But he can make it backfire, when he’s hooked into the system.

His thoughts are interrupted by a burst of noise from the nave. There are voices, then the tramp of feet up the aisle He stands and peers between the cooling towers. He recognises those voices.

Sarah Jane and Clyde are being dragged along by the guards. Mrs Wormwood appears from the transept. He freezes in place, momentarily convinced she must know what he'd been thinking. And then she's directing them to be taken to the chapter house, smiling wickedly as she plucks the sonic lipstick from Sarah Jane's pocket. Luke watches silently as they are lead away up the worn stone stairs. He is gripping the back of his chair with whitened knuckles. He doesn’t have much time, if he’s going to reroute the circuits. He’s got to do it. For them.

*****

Martha, Mickey and Rani are huddled in the doorway of the Cathedral Music School. The winter evening has fallen, and the cathedral green is lit by faux-gas lamps. The cathedral itself dominates the green, a large gothic structure rising up like a cliff face to tower above the squat medieval houses. A large tower rises from the centre of the building, and to one side is an octagonal chapter house. A covered gothic walkway links the chapter house with the buildings across the green, rising over the footpath that runs along the boundaries. Snow has begun to fall again, a light smattering glinting in the lamplight. The covering on the grass is pristine, only criss-crossed here and there by footprints, following the pathways. There is a dampening shield covering the whole area. It affects the quality of the sound. The crunch of their boots in the snow is strangely muffled, their movements seem distant and unconnected to their bodies. Rani has turned her collar up against the cold. Her skin prickles with it.

They watch Sarah Jane and Clyde be manhandled inside by the guards.

“I wish we could think of a better way of getting them inside,” she mutters.

Martha frowns. “I agree, but we don’t have enough time to think of a better plan. Sarah Jane was insistent. And she is right, they have dealt with the Xylok before.”

Mickey motions for them to leave their shelter. “Now we just need to not balls up our part.”

He passes out the portions of the explosive. “Know your location?”

Rani nods. Her charge is to be laid at the base of the column furthest on the right that supports the overhead passageway. It is the weak point of the building. Hard to guard, hard to defend.

Martha adjusts the frequency on the detonator while Mickey and Rani lay the explosives. Once they are all back in the door way of the music school, she lifts the flap that protects the detonation button.

“Ready?”

Mickey nods, and she presses it down.

*****

The explosion rips through the building. Sarah Jane and Clyde are flung against the stone wall of the chapter house. Their guard is not so lucky: a chunk of masonry has crushed the side of his skull. Smoke is billowing along the passage from where it now ends, open to the night sky. Clyde helps pull Sarah Jane to her feet. His ears are ringing from the blast, one knee of his jeans ripped and the skin bloody beneath. He’ll shout at at someone later about that poor timing, but this is the chance they’ve been waiting for, and he’s not about to blow it. He brushes the stone dust from his jeans and picks his way over the rubble. Sarah Jane is limping slightly, but following close behind.

The blast has strewn rubble right down the broad stairwell, gouging chunks out of the stone worn smooth from years of use. There is no light from the windows anymore, and only a few of the small metal rimmed spotlights have survived the blast. He has cautiously toed his way down two of the steps when the smoke clears to reveal Mrs Wormwood advancing up towards him. The rest of the passage leading in the opposite direction has been destroyed, so he pushes Sarah Jane behind him, back into the chapter house.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” hisses Mrs Wormwood.

There is a gleeful smile on her face as she pulls out a metal canister. She yanks off the lid and tosses it into the room. They flatten themselves against the wall, covering their heads with their arms waiting for another explosion. But none comes. Mrs Wormwood has gone, and there is a sickly green smog pouring from the canister. Shapes - no - figures appear in the smoke, ghostly indefinite forms. Clyde is starting to feel sick with adrenaline.

“Sarah Jane! Go! I’ll deal with this,” he hears himself saying.

“Clyde - “

“Just go!”

She squeezes his hand briefly, then edges her way around the smoke, and is gone.

Clyde moves slowly to the far side of the octagonal room, eyeing the smoke as it reaches the vaulted ceiling. Only a small part of the room is free from the smog. He climbs up on the the stone bench that runs around the whole room. He crouches beneath a metal plaque for the Bishop of Bath and Wells, and waits. One of the figures closest to him begins to solidify. It steps forward, in distinctly human shape. It smiles.

 

*****

The transept is deathly silent. Sarah Jane negotiates the stairs carefully. Her ankle is bothering her, and the 800 year old stone is uneven. She follows the sound of typing to the square area underneath the central tower, that is blocked up with processors and memory banks and circuit boards. The infinity arches are swathed in cables. Luke is in the centre of it all, hastily dragging cables here and there, clattering away on keyboards and adjusting dials. He reminds her somehow of the Doctor, working frantically at the controls of the TARDIS.

“Luke! Are you alright?”

He startles at her voice. Dark circles are smudged under his eyes, his face pale and worn. He is thinner than she remembers; his cheek and collar bones stand out in sharp relief.

“You need to run,” he states, then turns back to his keyboard.

“What?”

“I can stop the computer booting properly, but it won’t be safe here. You need to run.”

“I’m not leaving you." She manages defiance in her tone, but she thinks she might be sick.

“You have to!” he snaps. “The Xylok have wired the planet up, using the ley lines, linking all the places of power around the earth - and this is the hub. I can stop it, but this place will be ripped apart.”

Sarah Jane limps over to him. A flash of guilt crosses his face, and he looks away. She touches her hand to his arm. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs.

She looks over the figures on the array of screens. She can piece together enough of it to understand what he’s saying.

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

“It’s me, I’m the key. It needs my brain to run.”

“Then come with us! If we can get you away - “

“No. Don’t you see? It’s too late. We’ll never be safe as long as this thing’s still here. The only way is to destroy it, run the feedback through the link so when I get hooked up the system with destroy itself.”

He won’t look at her, staring intently at the screen. There is no sound but the sound of the keys.

“But that will kill you.”

*****

Martha, Mickey and Rani scatter when Mrs Wormwood leaps from the crushed walkway in her Bane form. Martha has pushed small triangular metal boxes into their hands.

"Plan indigo - hit this button when signalled, okay?"

Rani had nodded nervously.

"Don't worry," Mickey had said with a wicked grin. "I'll keep her busy."

He shoots across the green, making sure he is seen, then flings himself behind the cathedral wall. He pulls off his backpack and hastily rummages through it to pull out something with a long thin nozzle attached to two small canisters. He crouches behind a flying buttress, and balances the flamethrower over the edge. He waits until Mrs Wormwood in her Bane form comes writhing and wriggling over the snow, chasing Martha, before letting rip. She lets out an ungodly howl, coiling in on herself, head whirring around looking for the source, and he lets another jet of fire catch her side on. The stones of the cathedral wall are blackened and smoking, but she backs off again.

Nearly there.

He can just about see Rani on the far side, half hidden in a hedge. Martha is in place, near enough, but struggling with her transmitter pad. He angles up the nozzle of the flame thrower, and lets another burst fall short, just enough to keep Mrs Wormwood backing up.

Come on Martha, he hisses under his breath.

*****

His father is the first figure to step forward out of the smoke. His face is twisted into a cruel smile, and Clyde remembers the last time he saw him in person. He tells Clyde how wonderful his new son is. How he is everything Clyde never was. How his new family makes him happy. What a relief it is he never has to see Clyde again.

His stomach flip-flops, but he keeps crouched on the bench, watching the gas. It doesn’t seem to be encroaching on his area, but there are no gaps, no way through. He doesn’t think walking into it is a hot idea, so he keeps still and waits.

His mother emerges next. The disappointment is clear on her face. He’s just like his dad, she tells him. Such a waste of space. She’s put so much effort into raising him, worked so hard to give him a good life, and what does he do with it? Nothing. Cause trouble. Get kicked out of school. She’d never been so ashamed in her life as she was when she got his letter of exclusion. If she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t hate his father. She’s just jealous that he left first.

It takes him a moment to remember it is not his mother. She has never said any of this to him. Never would.

The acrid smell of the smoke is filling his nostrils. He wants to hold his breath, but it only makes his heart beat faster.

He shakes this thought off. He hasn’t got time to waste on maundering over his less than wonderful home life, but he still can’t see a way out. He tentatively edges towards the smoke to once side, testing the limits of his space. The bubble of about a metre of so in each direction around him seems to follow him, so as he approaches, the gas recedes before him, and closes in behind. Well, that’s some sort of progress, he thinks with a grimace. He can try and make his way to the doorway. He’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t fall down the stairs and break his neck first.

*****

Luke hits enter, and glances up at his mother.

“Yeah… well. Saving the world is hard,” he says lightly.

“Don’t be flippant.” She pulls him away from the computer. “Look at me. I won’t let you do this.”

He yanks his arm from her grip. “I have to! I’ve done worse things to save you already and I need to - “ he cuts off, mouth twisting down.

“… You… ?”

“I … she said she would kill you if I didn’t help her,” he says quietly. He finds now, he can’t look away. “She was lying. I was naive and stupid and I’ve helped end the world. This what I have to do to make it up.” He speaks flatly, all emotion deadened from his voice.

A hum and crackle begins to build as the circuit boards warm up.

“Luke, no… it doesn’t work like that,” she whispers.

“It has to.” He glances at the screen, reading the output figures. “It’s already started.”

There is the quiet click of something being unhooked and he looks up. His mother is taking the headset meant for him off the stand. She puts it on.

*****

Mrs Wormwood trips back another step, her perception translator flickering between human and Bane. Mickey dumps down the flamethrower and picks up the triangulation pulse handset. Martha and Rani are in place.

“Now!” he yells, waving his arm over his head.

As one, they activate the triangulation pulse. A bright white light throbs between the three devices, vapourising everything within in its boundaries. For a moment, Mickey is blinded, his vision reduced to black. Slowly, shades of grey seep in, and he can make out the blackened triangle of grass where Mrs Wormwood used to be. Rani is whooping and yelling, running over from the far side of the cathedral green.

“We did it! Skanky Bane thing is toast!”

Martha points up at the sky, to the tower of the cathedral where a halo of crackling blue light is sparking up and down the length of it.

“I think we’re too late.”

*****

He has edged his way far enough around the room that he is stepping over pieces of masonry from the explosion when a third figure emerges. For a second, he thinks Sarah Jane has come back to find him, until she folds her arms and looks at him scornfully.

“Oh we are trying, aren’t we?” she says. “Don’t worry, there’s no rush. You’d be no use out there anyway. You might as well stay scrabbling round here, not seeing a foot in front of your face. It’s all you ever do, anyway.”

Studiously ignoring her, he moves carefully, stepping over a carved hunk of the door frame. Lying amongst the rubble, he spots a flash of metal. The canister. No more smoke is coming from it now, it just just a metal tube. There is a small chunk of rock, clearly not from the walls, lying near it. It is pockmarked and brittle, and some how familiar.

“Nice try. I’m getting the riff here. I’m shit and useless, blah blah blah, give up now and sink into your smokey embrace. Not going to happen,” he smirks.

“Oh Clyde,” it says. “That’s very sweet. But you’re not useless. You’re just superfluous. I let you tag along because I felt sorry for you. I really couldn’t care either way about you.”

He crouches down as it speaks, and picks up the rock. He has definitely seen it before.

“No one wants you around,” it adds quickly as he touches the rock. “Not me, not your mother. Certainly not your father - he moved countries to avoid you! And you still didn’t get the hint.”

It is not rock. It’s meteor. He remembers the last thing he fought that came out of a meteor. That needed jokes but he knows that's not right now. This will demand something else. He can feel his eyes begin to smart. He will not cry. He will not let anything show. Rule to being cool, number two. Deny all emotion.

“Yup. That’s me. Thick as two short planks.” He tosses the meteor fragment in one hand. “Because _I_ can’t see why I should listen to anything some alien gas has to say. Must be far too stupid, because I don’t get it at all. Cause I still believe my mum and dad and my friends love me. They have their flaws, so do I. But we believe in each other, because we’re family.”

The smoke beings to boil and whip round behind the figures. Sarah Jane grimaces unnaturally, her face bending and twisting, until it is no longer her standing before him, but Luke. He takes a step towards Clyde, hands shoved casually in his pockets, a smirk on his face.

“What about me?” he says. "How many time have I rejected you now?"

Clyde looks at it in the eyes, those blank dead eyes tinged with green.

“Yeah,” he says. “I still believe in you.”

He throws the meteor into the smoke. It lets out a horrible shriek, a far from human noise, as the figure blurs and contorts, fading into the smoke, which starts to be sucked down into the rock. He feels a deep shudder rip through him and then the room is clear. Breathing hard Clyde bends down and scoops the meteor back into the canister, and rams the lid on hard.

*****

“Mum, no, you can’t.”

Luke trips over a chair in his rush to get to her.

“Luke, it’s okay.” Her face is pallid, her mouth set.

She touches the headset, making sure it is firmly in place.

“It should be me.” His voice cracks.

He is trying to work out how to fix this; he must be able to fix this. He casts around desperately, but exhaustion is slowing him down. He has been to clever for his own good, there is no way to stop things now. The system is powering up. The energy is building, pushing up the dials and indicators.

“No,” she says softly. “It shouldn’t. I’m your mum. I’m supposed to protect you and I failed. Now I can fix it.”

His throat burns, raw with each breath. His mother blurs in front of him, and then he feels his tears war on his cheeks. She reaches forward and pulls him to her. He buries his face in her shoulder, his chest hitching on his sobs. She is warm and solid; he can smell her perfume, something light and summery and completely at odds with their surroundings. She strokes the hair at the nape of his neck with one hand while the other presses against his back.

“You tried to protect me.” She is speaking gently, whispering against his ear. “Thank you. But you shouldn’t be doing this. You can’t make your life about me." He tenses against her. "Your parents are a dead end; life means moving forward. You have to live your own life. You hear me?”

He nods against her shoulder. The shoulder of her coat is damp against his face.

“I don’t want you to go,” he keens.

She strokes his hair, making soothing noises while the hum of the computer grows louder. He can hear running steps pulling up behind him, but he doesn't look round. There is a burnt, acid smell in the air as sparks fly from the cables. Luke can feel the hairs on his arms rising.

“I love you,” she says.

An alert blares out - the machine is nearly charged. She lets go of him, pushing him back. She is trembling.

“Luke!” Clyde is pulling him away, and he scrabbles against him to get back. “Luke, we have to get out of here.”

“I love you!” His voice is broken and coarse.

The electricity is building in the cables wrapped around the infinity arches; it trickles and crackles down to the headset. Sarah Jane tenses, eyes shut and jaw clenched. Waiting. Luke struggles against Clyde’s arms, but he holds him tight. The headset lights up as the system attempts to connect. Sweat beats on her forehead, and a line appears between her eyebrows. He can feel the heat coming off the system; the feedback loop is near full capacity. She brings her hands to the headset, to pull it off or hold it on, he can't tell. There is spark of electricity as the loop overloads, and a cry is ripe from her. She doubles over, then slumps to the ground. Luke has collapsed against Clyde. He can taste salt as his tears dribble down over his lips. His mother has curled up, clutching at her head. He will never forget the sounds she makes.

The power rises and rises; the whole tower is vibrating. A mug rattles off the desk and smashes on the flagstone floor. There are blue sparks crackling from the wires, flying out and landing perilously close to them. Most burn out, but one catches on a stack of print outs and begins to smoulder. The feedback reader is going haywire. One cable shorts, then another. The floor is shaking; a crack appears in one of the arches. Clyde looks up nervously. Crack follows crack and soon stone begins to crumble. One chunk smashes into the monitor stand.

“Luke, we have to go!”

He tries to pull Luke away, but Luke makes a break for the desk.

“Wait - wait.” He is bent over, the surviving monitors, checking readings. “It enough! It’s done. The system is irreparably damaged. Help me.” His voice his hoarse.

Abandoning the screens, he drops down next to a fallen Sarah Jane and carefully removes the headset. Her skin is ashen and grey. Luke strokes her hair, pushing it back from her face. Clyde looks at the fracturing arch again, antsy, before crouching down beside Luke and helping him lift her up. She is barely conscious. Between the two of them they manage to manoeuvre her from the collapsing central tower out into the cloisters. The cold hits them like a wall; the snow is falling heavily now. They make it halfway across the yard before their legs give out and they’re sprawled in the snow. From out here there is no sign of the chaos within. It's almost peaceful in the snow.

Luke kneels by Sarah Jane, and scrubs the tears from his face with his sleeve.

“Please, just hold on. We’ll get help.” He touches her cheek. “Mum.”

Her eyes are blank. Snowflakes are coming to rest of her face, melting slowly on her skin.

“Mum,” he sobs.

Clyde doesn’t have the heart to try and move him again. He kneels in the snow beside him, and tentatively slips his hand over Luke’s. At first he thinks the blue crackle and the strange noise are a part of the collapse of the computer system. Luke is still hunched over his dead mother’s body. He doesn’t see the blue box materialise, cutting a gap in the snowfall.

The door opens and a gangly man in a bow tie bursts out. Though he has never seen him before, Clyde knows he must be the Doctor.

“Sarah!” He pulls up short, seeing her laid out. “No… I’m too late…”

Luke looks up at the voice, his face tear-stained and blotchy.

“No, no, no! This is all wrong," he rails. "I was supposed to get here in time, I was supposed to save her!”

A ginger haired girl sticks her head out of the door.

“Doctor! You were right, the Judoon are coming. In about five minutes!”

Clyde’s hand tightens on Luke’s. “Oh no. They’re coming for you, Luke.”

The Doctor stiffen and looks at him. “What do you mean. Why are they coming for him.” He passes a calculating glance over Luke. “Did you do this?” he asks, and there is a current of threat in his voice.

“No!” Clyde says at the same time Luke says, “Yes!”

The Doctor looks between them, conflicted.

“Doctor, we have to do something," the girl demands.

“Amy, shh.”

At this, Amy steps out of the box, hands on hips. “He’s just a child! We can’t leave him to the Judoon. I won’t let you," she says defiantly.

“I can’t!” he throws back at her. “You don’t understand. He’s dangerous.”

Amy looks that the two of them knelt in the snow. The knees of their jeans are soaked, skin prickling with cold.

‘Then shouldn’t you keep an eye on him?” she says.

The Doctor glares at her darkly. He passes a hand over his eyes, and seems to deflate. He gestures to Luke. “Fine. Get in the TARDIS, now. We can’t hang around.”

Luke stares at him dumbfounded. Clyde drags him up and meets his tear blurred gaze.

“Luke, get out of here. You can’t let the Judoon find you, they’ll execute you for sure.”

He pushes him towards the blue box; Amy takes his arm and pulls him in. Luke follows, stumbling unseeingly after her. Clyde stands in the snow, hands clenched by his side. The Doctor looks at Sarah Jane’s body, face drawn, then turns into the box.

The door is shut, and Clyde is left alone in the cloister-yard as it flickers out of sight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Say not in grief 'he is no more'  
but live in thankfulness that he was_

Clyde makes the journey by foot, walking to the graveyard through the snow. It is caked onto the pavement, compacted down into ice, so he walks slowly and carefully, trying not to slip. He is mangling the flowers in his hand with his tense grip. There is no one else in the graveyard. He has carefully timed his visit to avoid any Christmas services, and the church stands cold and blank in the winter landscape.

He crouches down by the gravestone, and clears away some of the snow, running his fingers over the letters. He always hopes he might see flowers left that aren’t his. There is nothing there now. He arranges his wildflower sprig as best he can, but his fingers are stiff from the cold. He sits back on his haunches and works some feeling back into them, before pulling his gloves on again.

The graveyard is bordered one one side by a dense wood, an ancient thicket of trees tightly twisted in on themselves.The snow lays heavily on the branches, coating the leaves. Clyde catches something out of the corner of his eye. It is a figure, standing so still he would not have noticed it but for chance. He straightens, trying to make them out. They step forward as he does, and the grey winter sunlight colours their skin.

Luke walks towards him.


End file.
